


Check Your Damn Mise En Place

by Wonderlandleighleigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family Bonding, Gen, Past Suicide Attempt, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-20 02:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17613341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderlandleighleigh/pseuds/Wonderlandleighleigh
Summary: Dean may have lied a little bit to Mary about the cooking thing. Just a little. That's okay, though. He's gonna make it up to her. Or burn down the kitchen trying. And Mary? Well, she's learning a lot about her sons.





	1. The Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slightly annoyed with Dean's line in "Damaged Goods" about being a terrible cook. We know that's not true. So I'm fixing it.
> 
> But also this fic turned into something I wasn't expecting.

“So...so I may have lied a little.” 

There are times when Mary looks at her very-grown son, and has to smile, because all she sees are the mannerisms of her four-year-old. The scuff of a foot; the grimace as he realizes he’s been caught, hands shoving into his pockets as his head hangs. 

She tilts her head, feeling more amused than annoyed. “About what?” 

“Well, I told you I was a terrible cook, but…” 

Mary glances behind Dean and sees…

Wow. 

Yeah, her baby can cook.

Because they're standing in the bunker's kitchen, and there are three pan-seared steaks resting on a large cutting board. There are seasoned french-fries on a baking sheet, fresh out of the oven, and what looks like some sort of glazed carrots on another one.

And there’s a pie on the table. 

Fresh-baked. 

Not like the frozen ones she’d buy at the store and throw in the oven to surprise him with when he was little, but something flaky and beautiful and enormous, and clearly filled with apples.

“Wow,” she says out loud. 

Dean sighs. “I just- I didn’t want you to feel bad about not bein’ able to cook so I...I kinda played dumb.” 

Mary laughs.

She has too. 

This is.

This is exactly what her son would do. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” she says, resting her hands on her hips. “That you made me eat Winchester Surprise, when you coulda made me steak?” 

He opens his mouth.

He closes his mouth. 

Mary laughs harder and walks up, hugging him tightly. “I love you.” 

She gets a hug back, and a muttered “love you, Mom,” in returns. She pats his shoulder and pulls away, shaking her head. 

“I could-” He takes a breath, and shrugs. “I mean, I could teach you to cook. If you wanted.” 

She gazes up at him. 

She nods. 

“I’d like that.”


	2. Meatball Sandwiches

Mary’s eyes widen as her son saunters over to where she’s sitting at the kitchen table and settles a fire extinguisher in front of her with a loud, echoing “THUNK.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Seriously? I haven’t even set foot near the stove yet!” 

Dean chuckles a little. “There’s this guy named Alton Brown. He’s a cooking show guy, and a total weirdo. But he’s really smart, and he says that the this-” he taps the extinguisher. “Should be the only uni-tasker in your kitchen. I guess if you’re us, anything is a multi-tasker if you want it to be badly enough, though. You squeeze somebody’s finger in a garlic press hard enough-” 

“Dean.” 

“Right! So!” He claps his hands together. “Everything in your kitchen should be multi-purpose. Two things made movin’ into this crazy mausoleum worth it: One was the memory foam mattress. And two, was the fully stocked kitchen. All we had to do was buy the food. Last time I had a real working kitchen before this was our universe’s Bobby’s house, and he didn’t have half of the cool crap that the Men of Letters have.” 

Mary grins a little and sits back, enjoying watching Dean get excited about something other than killing things. It’s a nice change.

“So. Cooking 101. You keep this baby handy,” Dean pats the fire extinguisher again. “And you prep by takin’ out everything you’re gonna use so you have it handy. Some people go nuts with it and measure out every ingredient. It’s called Mise En Place.” 

Mary blinks, a little thrown by that level of knowledge. “Wait. How do you know that?” 

“Lotta cold nights in boring motel rooms,” Dean shrugs. “Case of beer and the Food Network.” 

She laughs a little and shakes her head. “So what are we doing first?” 

“Meatballs,” Dean tells her. 

She hops up, grinning. “Great. I’ll get the meatballs from the freezer.” 

Dean wrinkles his nose. “There aren’t any meatballs in the freezer.” 

Mary stops. 

“We’re gonna make the-” he laughs a little. “Mom, I’m teachin’ you how to cook, not defrost horsemeat.” 

“Hey,” Mary snaps with a laugh, whapping Dean in the arm playfully. “Frozen meatballs got us through a lotta nights that your dad had to work late.” 

“Not that he was much of a cook, either,” Dean mutters. 

“What are you talking about?” Mary asks. “Your dad was a great cook. Don’t you remember? He used to fry chicken for us, and grill burgers.” 

Dean frowns. “I-” he takes a breath. “I guess I don’t. He didn’t do much cookin’ after you left us...didn’t have the time.” 

Mary huffs and crosses her arms. “I swear. If I ever see him again, I’m gonna kiss him and then I’m gonna hit him in the face with a chair.” 

Dean laughs, even though his eyes go a little sad. 

Mary hates that. 

“Okay,” he says. “So we’re gonna make up the sauce first.” 

She nods and follows him over to the counter. 

Dean grabs a bottle of olive oil, a bowl of minced garlic and a can of anchovies, and Mary takes a step back.

He glances at her. “What?” 

She points to the anchovies. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re not even gonna taste ‘em. They dissolve into the olive oil. They add flavor.” 

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, you may be an adult, but I am still your mother,” Mary snaps.

He grins a little, wryly, and shakes his head. “Okay. So...you heat up the olive oil…” he dumps some into a pan, and Mary watches as it starts to heat up. “And once it’s heated up, you’re gonna add your garlic and anchovies.” 

She watches him, stepping closer, smelling the super-salty smell of the fish. Dean picks up a spatula and cuts up the anchovies. They both watch them break down in the hot oil. 

“Okay fine. They smell kinda good.” 

“Damn right,” Dean grins. “A’right. Next, wine.” 

“For tomato sauce?” 

“For this tomato sauce, yeah,” Dean nods. 

Mary grabs the bottle from the table and walks back over, holding it out to him. 

“Nah, you do it. Like three glugs of it.” 

Mary shrugs and pours some in, watching it simmer in with the oil and garlic.

“Now we gotta cook it down.” 

She huffs and takes a swig from the bottle. “How do you have the patience for this?” 

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s kinda nice. Sam doesn’t cook much, and Cass doesn’t eat much, so cookin’ means I get some quiet time. And...it’s nice to focus on somethin’ different.” 

She nods, and they both watch the wine cook down.

Once it does, Dean leaves her side and comes back with tomato paste, tomatoes and dried rosemary. He proceeds to dump all of it in, causing it all to simmer and splatter.

Mary yelps and jumps back, and they both laugh. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry, Mom.” 

“You’re such a brat,” Mary accuses him, and he laughs harder as he settles a lid over the pot. 

“Okay. We’re gonna let that cook. Don’t open it. It’s like slicing a vampire head off. Red stuff everything.” 

She grins.

Dean looks around for a moment and then wipes his hands on his jeans. “Okay. Meatball time. Sound good?” 

Mary nods.

“So think of meatballs as like...little Winchester Surprises without the American cheese. We got ground chuck, we got chorizo, bread crumbs, some hard cheese, some mozzarella, some spices and an egg.” 

“What’s the egg for?” Mary asks. 

“Binding agent,” Dean says. “Keeps the meatballs from falling apart. So.” He gets to work, and Mary watches. “Real simple. You throw everything into a bowl and you mix it with your hands.” 

Mary recoils. 

Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Mom. We’re elbow deep in monster guts like...twice a week. C’mon.” He reaches for her arm and pulls her over to have her try. 

The meat mixture is cold; much colder than monster guts, but she does as instructed, forming meatballs and placing them on greased sheet pans. 

Once all the meatballs are formed, Dean takes the pans, sliding them into the oven. 

“Okay. So the sauce cooks for thirty, the meatballs go in for like...twelve,” he explains. “While they do their thing, we can get the bread and cheese sliced up.” 

“Wait,” Mary says. “No one ever said anything about-” 

“They’re sandwiches, Mom,” Dean chuckles. “You gotta have a meatball delivery system.” 

She laughs and shakes her head, but picks up a knife. “This I can do.” She slices the rolls easily, while Dean tackles the cheese. 

“The instructions say to toast the bread in the oven, but that’s kinda ocupado,” Dean says. “So when the meatballs and sauce are done, we’ll pop ‘em in the toaster oven.” 

She nods. “We makin’ enough for your brother and Cass and Jack?” 

“Ah they can grab the leftovers,” Dean waves her off. “Besides, every time I make this, Sam complains about heartburn. And meanwhile whenever I don’t cook, he goes out and gets Mexican food and stinks up the whole place.” 

Mary frowns. “Well, he may need to see a doctor. He might have acid reflux, or a dairy allergy. I was reading about gluten-” 

Dean blinks at her, incredibly nonplussed.

“Oookay,” Mary says. “You’re right. You and Sam are adults. If you have tummy trouble, it’s on you to handle it.” 

“I don’t have tummy trouble at all,” Dean tells her. “I run for my life a lot and I slice the heads off a lot of things so eatin’ like this doesn’t bother me a bit. Sam’s been living on vegetable smoothies so long, his stomach can’t handle actual food anymore.” 

Mary bites her lip, not wanting to lecture her son on healthy eating choices. 

He looks at her face and she doesn’t need to say anything. “What?! It’s got tomatoes in it! It’s healthy.” 

“Sure.”

“Healthier than frozen meatballs.” 

“Hey!” 

He grumbles and stalks off to check the progress on the meatballs and sauce. He lifts the lid and is sprayed in the face for his trouble, jerking back and blinking rapidly. 

Mary sticks her tongue out at him. “Serves you right.” 

“Keep it up, Mom, I will eat all of this myself.” 

***** 

It’s delicious.

It tastes like they got it delivered, except it’s so much better.

Mary takes a huge bite of hers, and covers her mouth as she chews. “Oh my god.” 

“Right?” Dean asks with his own full mouth. “So friggin good.”

She nods in agreement as she swallows. “Seriously, honey. Where did you learn to do this stuff?” 

“TV and the internet,” Dean says simply. “But also a lot of trial and error as a kid, cookin’ for me and Sam. You figure out pretty quick what does and doesn’t work. Not that we had the kindsa resources then that we have now...ketchup sandwiches were a pretty regular staple.” 

Mary stares at him, setting her sandwich down, and it hits her again, harder, that her babies went hungry a lot of the time. That John was leaving them alone in cold, run-down motel rooms. 

Yes, her own father was a hunter, but they had a home. They hunted local, with occasional trips further out.

It’s these kinds of things that make Mary want to scream and cry and hit something and just…

She does none of it. She picks up her beer and takes a long, long sip. 

When she swallows, she reaches out and pats his hand gently. “You are a great big brother.” 

“You kidding? I’m the best big brother,” Dean says joking. 

And she smiles, because she’s not sure what else to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe Dean uses for Meatball sandwiches can be found here: https://www.cookingchanneltv.com/recipes/kickin-meatball-parmigiana-with-diavolo-sauce-2112622
> 
> I've made it a couple of times and highly recommend it. Dean makes some minor adjustments (minced garlic because garlic is great, and dried rosemary because growing fresh herbs in an underground bunker seems...not super easy, and we haven't seen if the bunker has a greenhouse yet), but otherwise, make as recommended. You won't be sorry.


	3. Macaroni and cheese

“IS IT READY YET?!” 

Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Sammy, we haven’t even started yet!” 

A beat. 

And then.

“Okay!” 

Mary has to laugh. Sam is her quiet, thoughtful boy. He’s not exuberant in the way that Dean is. He doesn’t get excited the way Dean does. Sammy is calm and level-headed and reasonable. 

Always reasonable. 

Except, it seems, when faced with the prospect of macaroni and cheese. 

“He gets like this every time,” Dean explains as he pulls out their ingredients for the day. “When he was seven, he literally refused to eat anything else. To the point where, when we couldn’t afford milk or butter or whatever for the boxed stuff, I bought Kraft Singles and Ramen packs and made it that way.” 

Mary wrinkles her nose. “He ate that?” 

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “And he’ll never admit it, but he definitely ate it when we were first traveling together again.” 

“Sam?” Mary laughs. “That Sam? The one in the other room, researching?” 

“Yep!” Dean nods. “And then magically, it was salads twenty-four seven.” 

“I COULDN’T EAT ANOTHER BURGER AFTER WATCHING YOU EAT SO MANY!” Sam calls. 

Mary laughs again and shakes her head. Seeing them like this is a joy. “Okay, Okay, so how do we do this?” 

“Put the pasta up to cook first,” Dean nods, resting his hands on his hips. “Then we gotta make a bechamel sauce.” 

“God bless you,” Mary jokes, and Dean rolls his eyes again.

“It’s the base for the cheese sauce,” Dean explains. “Tell me you know how to cook pasta.” 

“Dump in boiling water, stir a little, done when soft.” 

“Hell no, soft,” Dean says. “Al dente.” 

“Dean.” 

“You don’t want it to be too soft, it’ll get all mushy.” 

“You liked mushy mac and cheese!” Mary cries. 

“I was four,” Dean reminds her. “Put some kosher salt in the water, bring it to a boil and then dump the pasta in.”

Mary does so, and Dean nods in approval, before starting the cheese sauce. 

“Okay. So we melt the butter,” he says, dropping it in. “And once that’s done, we’re gonna add flour and cook it til it’s a nice yellow color, before we add spices, and onion and milk.” 

“IS IT DONE YET?!” 

“STOP ASKING OR I’MA FEED ALL OF IT TO JACK!” Dean hollars back at his brother. 

A beat. 

And then.

“OKAY!” 

Mary can’t help more laughter. She shakes her head. “You two musta driven your father up a wall.” 

“And then some,” Dean admits. “We were uh...quite the handful. So much so that there were times he couldn’t take it.” 

Mary stops laughing, tilting her head. “What does that mean?” 

“Nothin,” Dean shrugs. “Y’know. Uh...we got older, and things got harder. We started givin’ him a hard time cuz we had minds of our own, and we thought we knew everything...he couldn’t always deal. So Dad would...he’d send me away sometimes. Just to keep me in line. Get Sammy to calm down.” 

Mary stares at him, her heart stopping. “I’m sorry, what?” 

He shakes his head as he adds the flour ot the pan. “Forget I said anything. It’s not a big-” 

“Dean Winchester,” Mary snaps. “You will talk to me about-” 

“The great thing about bein’ a grown-up is that I don’t have to if I don’t want to,” Dean tells her gently. “I love you, Mom, but I’m not there yet. With the talking and the feelings, and I might never be about that time in my life. So just. Y’know? Just grab me the onions and the mustard powder and the paprika.” 

She stares at him for a long moment, and she wonders what it must have been like for all three of them. Dean dumped somewhere to cool off; Sam not knowing where he brother was and John overwhelmed and paranoid and in no shape to raise two mal-adjusted boys.

“Okay,” Mary says softly as she does as he asks, grabbing the ingredients. “Okay. You’re right. You’re an adult. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to talk.” She takes a breath and wraps her arms around his middle as he keeps adding items to the pan. “But I love you. And I’m here if you need anything.” 

Dean smiles at her. That little boy smile she still sees in her dreams and nightmares sometimes. “This is good, Mom.” 

Once the sauce thickens up, Dean ladles some of it and puts it into a bowl with an egg. 

“Won’t it scramble?” 

“Nah, you do it slow,” Dean says softly. “This is called uh...tempering. You let it get used to the heat, and then you drop it in.” He does so, and Mary watches as the sauce thickens a little more and changes color just slightly.

“Is it time for the cheese?” Mary asks. 

Dean smirks. “Hell yeah.” 

She beams and picks up a large bowl of grated cheese, and dumps it right in.

“Okay, so we need salt and pepper, and the noodles,” Dean tells her. 

Once everything is mixed, Dean dumps it all into a souffle dish, sprinkles more cheese, and some butter-coated bread crumbs on top before sliding it into the oven. 

“I think Sammy woulda died and gone to heaven if I’d known how to make this when we were kids,” Dean comments, amused. “He begs for this stuff every time he has a cold or the flu.” 

Mary grins and rubs Dean’s arm.

***** 

As good as the macaroni and cheese is - and it is very good - Mary is much more involved in watching Sam. 

He’s eating slow, savoring every bite. He’s not even reading at the table, as he’s prone to do. 

“I think this is the best I’ve ever had,” Sam comments. 

Dean chuckles. “It’s the same recipe as always, Sammy.” 

“Still! It’s got mom’s touch.” 

“Oh, no,” Mary laughs. “No, no, honey. I am still a terrible cook.” 

“You’re learnin,” Dean says. “You’re doin great.” 

Sam smiles at them both, and takes another bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's go-to mac and cheese recipe can be found here. And he followed it pretty much to the letter:
> 
> https://altonbrown.com/baked-macaroni-and-cheese-recipe/


	4. Bacon and Eggs

This, Mary knows how to do. 

Back of a Bisquick box, and some bacon frying on the stove. 

“I am a breakfast queen,” Mary proclaims as Dean gathers their ingredients for the morning. 

It’s early. Sam and Jack are still sleeping, and Castiel is sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, watching as they get prepped for breakfast. Dean is wandering around in socks, sweatpants and a t-shirt, with a warn old robe over all of it, and Mary has to admit, she feels a little nostalgic. 

Saturday mornings when Dean was little were the best. She’d make them bacon and toast and while John slept in, they would watch old Three Stooges shorts on PBS. Inevitably Dean would laugh so hard that he’d wake John. 

Mary remembers the sight of her husband stumbling down the stairs in the morning, dressed just like Dean is now, hair a mess, looking sleepy and amused. He’d come down and scoop Dean up to tickle his belly, and the kid would laugh harder.  
Mary can’t remember the last time she saw Dean - this Dean, the one that exists now - really laugh. She’s not sure she ever has. 

He chuckles, though. “Okay, queen of breakfast, lemme show you a few tricks to add to your arsenal.” 

Mary smiles and follows Dean around the kitchen as he talks about benefits of cooking bacon in the oven, versus a frying pan on the stove, and who likes their eggs what way. 

“So Sammy is a strictly egg whites man,” Dean says. “I use the term ‘man’ loosely.” 

“Dean,” Mary snaps. “stop emasculating your brother.” 

Dean opens his mouth and then closes it, not having any kind of retort for his very stern-looking mother.

“Right. Okay. Uh...I’m a sunny-side-up fan, Jack likes his scrambled, and Cass likes his fried over hard.” 

“Extra powdery,” Castiel adds. “It’s pleasant.” 

Mary grins at him fondly and shakes her head. “I’m an over-easy girl myself.” 

“You know how to cook eggs?” Dean asks. 

“Nope,” Mary says confidently. “Your dad did that. I handled the bacon and the toast.” 

“Awesome,” Dean grins. “Then let’s get started. It’s all about timing.” 

When she starts to get good, Dean leaves the room to hit the bathroom, and Mary grins back at Castiel. 

“Doin okay?” 

“Yes,” Castiel nods, sitting back. “I’m fine. It is...nice. To see this side of Dean.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He seems...lighter. When he is spending time with you like this. Like he is not so weighed down.” 

Mary nods slowly, thinking that over. “Castiel, do you know anything about what things were like when they were younger? When their dad was still around?” 

“I…” Castiel grimaces. “I do my best not to pry. They’ve told me some stories about what things were like, and I hear things in passing that they’ve said to each other. But they guard that time of their lives very closely. They don’t tend to share often.” 

Mary blows out a breath. “No, of course. I just. Dean said something the other day that I’m still trying to make sense of.” 

“Perhaps Sam will know,” Castiel offers. “He’s more forthcoming with details. Occasionally.” 

Mary smiles at him. “Thanks, Cass.” 

Castiel pauses for a long moment. “Mary, we are all very glad you’re here.” 

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment. She’s not sure what to say to that; how to react. She knows Castiel has become family to her boys, and she’s grateful they had someone else to watch their backs.

She just-

“Whoa!” Dean’s voice booms as he rushes over and gently moves her out of the way. “Mom, over-hard just become extra crispy.” 

Mary blows out a slow breath as she watches Dean turn off the stove and clean out the pan. “Sorry.” 

Dean frowns at her and then looks at Castiel, before turning back to her. “Everything okay?” 

“Fine,” Mary says quickly. “Cass and I were just talking and I got distracted.” 

Dean gives Castiel a warning look. “You hitting on my mom?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel rolls his eyes. 

“Well, why not? My mom is awesome, and pretty. Just like me.” 

“Stop trying to find me a boyfriend,” Mary laughs and ruffles his hair. “Let me try that egg again.” 

By the time everyone else wakes up, Mary has successfully made one each of everyone’s favorite type of eggs. The bacon comes out of the oven, and there’s toast to go along with it. 

Mary eats at the table with the four of them, watching quietly as they talk and laugh and make plans for the rest of the day.

She glances at Castiel, who gives her a sheepish grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No recipes here. Breakfast basics are widely available! :)


	5. Salad Basics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for some divergent canon and some past attempted suicide. 
> 
> Also for salads. Dangerous, those salads are.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Mom.” 

She looks up at him innocently as she drops an entire handful of shredded cheddar cheese and bacon into the greens in the large glass bowl on the counter.

Dean’s been busy with a hunt, so Sam’s been showing Mary to ropes. Healthier ropes. 

“You kinda...ruined the point of a salad.” 

“I thought the point was to make it edible,” Mary shrugs. 

“God you and Dean are so alike,” Sam marvels as he grabs another bowl and starts putting together another, less heart-attack inducing salad. 

Mary watches him carefully as he tosses some more bagged spinach in, and then starts slicing up some carrots. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you Sam?” 

Sam blinks and looks up at her, and his voice goes soft. “Uhm. Of...of course, Mom. We have told you everything. Y’know. Michael and Lucifer and the apocalypse and Yellow Eyes and the Leviathan and...you know all of it.” 

“I know most of it,” Mary concedes as she pulls out the tomatoes from the fridge. “I know about your going to college and what happened to Jessica. And I know that Dean hunted with and without your father during that time. But what I don’t have, are a lot of the in-between.” 

Sam goes back to slicing, not meeting her eyes. “There’s not much to tell. Dad rode us hard, dragged us from town to town following leads and hunting whatever came up on the way, and we...we were along for the ride.” 

Mary crosses her arms. “Wow.” 

“What?” 

“You really think I’m gonna buy that there’s nothing to tell?” Mary asks. 

Sam huffs, obviously starting to get defensive. “Mom, what do you want me to tell you?” 

‘The truth.” 

He pauses and looks at her, oddly, as if he’s only seeing her for the first time now. 

“Okay,” Sam says evenly. “The truth. The truth was, we got left alone in a lot of rundown motels and safe houses. There wasn’t always a lot of food, the air conditioning never worked. The heat rarely did, and if the water ran clear we called it a good day. I attended...god. I don’t know. Sixteen high schools in four years? Maybe less. Can’t remember.” 

Mary looks down. 

“Dean did everything. He cooked, he did laundry, he taught me how to walk and talk and read, he taught me to ride a bike. He even taught me to drive. When Dad was around, he was either behind the wheel, or lookin for the next hunt, or...gettin’ drunk. Good days felt rare, though I uh… I think they were more common than I felt they were. Dean did the best he could to keep me and Dad from killing each other. I ran away a couple times. Dean got sent away a couple-” 

“Why?” Mary asks, cutting him off. 

“Why did I run away?” Sam asks, surprised. 

“No. No that’s- I wanna talk about that, too, but this is the second time one of you boys has mentioned your dad sending Dean away,” Mary tells him. “Why would John do that? I don’t understand. What could Dean possibly have done?” 

“Well...the uh...the one time, Dean got caught stealing,” Sam says slowly. “Dad was pissed, and he let Dean get carted off to this boys’ home. They actually offered to let him stay, but Dean.” He shakes his head, looking sad. “Dean felt like he couldn’t do that.” 

Mary stays quiet, rolling that around in her head. Dean had an out. Somebody had thrown him a rope and he hadn’t taken it, because…

“Dean was fifteen,” Sam shrugs. “I was eleven. I don’t know what Dad and I woulda done without him.” 

Mary nods slowly. “Was there any other time?” 

“One,” Sam admits. “But...but Dean would kill me if he knew I told you.” 

“Tough,” Mary says quickly, firmly. “What other time?” 

Sam stays quiet for a long moment before he starts talking again. “Dean was...I guess he was seventeen. And...we were getting ready for school one day and Dean was running late. So Dad...Dad went upstairs to get him.” 

Sam’s face is pale now as he keeps going. He talks about John finding Dean collapsed in the bathroom, and the paramedics showing up. He talks about Dean being under 72 hours of observation at the hospital, and that John didn’t want Sam to see his big brother like that. 

He talks about being forced to go to school, and coming home to find John drinking by himself. That Dean and his things were no longer there, and that they didn’t see Dean again for months, but eventually picked him up at Bobby’s.

“Did you and Dean ever talk about it?” Mary asks. She’s shaking. She’s not generally a shaker, but she’s standing there and she has the shakes. 

“I tried,” Sam admits sadly. “For a long time after, I tried, but every time I brought it up, Dean would say not to worry about it. That things were fine. That he was better. And eventually I asked one time too many and Dad sat me down. He said...he said that I should respect Dean’s privacy. ‘If your brother doesn’t wanna talk, you gotta let this go, Sammy. If he wants to talk, he’ll do it when he’s ready.’” 

“He never did,” Mary surmises. 

“Not once,” Sam confirms. His voice is quiet. It makes him sound young, and a little scared. “I tried to talk to Bobby about it, but he said it wasn’t his place to say. Just that Dean had needed...needed time back then. That sometimes hunters lose their marbles, and that...that we’re just lucky Dad found him when he did. Right before Dean’s deal with Lilith came due, I tried again. To talk about it.” 

“What did Dean say?” 

Sam takes a deep breath. “‘Sammy. I know you’re askin’ because you care, but I don’t have any answers. All I can do is say I’m sorry it happened.’” 

She watches her younger son’s shoulders slump as he says it. They both know that of all the responses Sam could have received, that was probably the worst one. 

Mary hugs him tightly, letting him grip onto her. 

Sam sniffles a little, holding on. “We should...we should finish the salads, and-” 

“Sshh,” Mary holds him tighter. “It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sam Salad: https://cafedelites.com/balsamic-chickpea-avocado-feta-salad/ 
> 
> A Mary Salad: https://diethood.com/apples-bacon-salad-maple-balsamic-vinaigrette/


	6. Cleanup

She’s proud of Dean for being so tidy in the kitchen. Everything gets washed , everything gets put back in its proper place.

It’s great. 

It’s nice.

But Mary can’t help thinking about her conversation with Sam. And she knows she should respect Dean’s privacy. It’s his right if he doesn’t want to talk, and he’ll be the first one to tell her that.

Her gaze rolls over her older son. Her boys are both tall and handsome, healthy and strong like John was. As she keeps studying him (the way he styles his hair, his narrowed, focused green eyes, and the way his fingers grip the pot he’s cleaning), her thoughts stop in their tracks as her eyes settle on his wrist, exposed by a rolled up sleeve as he soaps up another soup pot.

A scar runs vertically, right down the center.

She kicks herself for never noticing before. 

When they were little, when it was her primary job to look after them and care for them, she knew every inch of her boys. Every pump and bruise, every freckle and scrape. 

But she never got to know Sam past babyhood, and Dean was only four. He hadn’t even started losing his baby teeth yet.

Dean catches her looking, and slows what he’s doing. “Mom?” 

She reaches out and snatches his arm before he has a chance to pull away, the pot clattering against the side of the sink as it falls into the dishwater. 

He’s letting her look. Mary knows that. He’s not shaking her off or yanking his arm away. He letting her see.

“Dean.” Her voice surprises her. How even it is. How calm, even though she wants to throw up or just scream or cry.

Dean still has his other hand in the soapy dishwater, above the wrist and Mary knows. Mary knows it looks similar. 

They stand there in dead silence for a long moment, staring at each other.

“Hunting stopped being awesome for a while when I was seventeen,” Dean tells her. He almost sounds dead. “The moving around.The monsters. I couldn’t pretend it was awesome anymore. I just felt...trapped.” His voice breaks on the last word. “And...and I-” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I missed you. I was lookin’ in the mirror one morning gettin’ ready for school and I suddenly thought about how much I wanted to see you.” 

Mary can’t stop staring. She has the sudden urge to slap him across the face; to make him understand that that wasn’t- 

That his life is worth so much more-

That he’s stronger than-

Mary settles on gripping his arm.

“Dad found me,” Dean says, confirming Sam’s story. “And after a few days on suicide watch at the hospital, he picked me up and left me at Bobby’s for the rest of the school year. I uh...I didn’t graduate. I just uh...healed up. Fixed cars.” 

“Did you ever try again?” 

“No.” 

“Are you lying to me?” 

“No,” Dean says. “No, I couldn’t do that to Dad and Sam again.” 

He says nothing after that. He just lets her hold his arm.

And then, finally. 

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

There’s so much shame in his voice. There’s so much regret. And she wonders, briefly, why he hadn’t told her. Back when he was inside her head, when he was trying to convince her to fight Ketch and the British Men of Letters. Why Dean had made it all about what had happened to Sam after she’d died.

Mary pulls him in and holds him tightly, squeezing her eyes closed and trying not to cry. “You’re not allowed to leave like that,” she says, shakily. “It’s one thing if you go out swinging. If...if something finally gets you. But you’re not allowed to-” 

“I know,” Dean says gently. She can feel him maneuvering to dry his hands and then wrap his arms around her in return. “I know that now. I was young, and I was...I was messed up. And I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Mary says brokenly. “No, honey. I’m sorry. This...all of this...you were right. This was all my fault. I left the three of you alone, and-” 

“Mom.” Dean’s voice is gently as he pats her back. “Really. I’m okay now. It was a long time ago. I’ve had a lot of time to get my head on straight.” 

“Just...you know you can tell me anything, right?” Mary asks, repeating what she’d said to Sam. 

“I know,” he confirms quietly, and lets her keep hugging him, even though he’s clearly ready to pull away.

And she will eventually let him go. They’ll eventually get back to finishing up the dishes. 

Just...just not yet.


	7. Mixology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 14x13: "Lebanon" 
> 
> The Winchesters don't really do mixed drink. They're a straight from the bottle kinda family.

The door closes shut after their boys, and Mary turns to John as he wanders into the kitchen. 

As he walks in, she uncrosses her arms and goes for the whiskey bottle still sitting on the table, lifting up Sam’s glass and refilling it for herself. Mary knows John is watching her like a hawk; that he’s itching to be close to her, and part of her would love nothing more. 

She’s missed the hell out of her husband. 

But there are things that she needs to say to him, and she can’t do that with their boys in the room; so happy to see their father, to see the two of them together. All Dean wants is a nice family dinner. Sam, too. And Mary wants to give them that. She owes them that much at least. 

But first, a little housekeeping. 

“Mary-” 

“You don’t get to talk,” she says. “I’m the one talking now.” 

John lets out a resigned sigh. Mary knows it well. It’s the John Winchester ‘Christ almighty, I’ve done something wrong and I don’t know what but I’m about to find out so I better strap the fuck in’ sigh. 

She fills her whiskey glass again. “First of all. Raising our boys to be hunters?” 

“I had no choice.” 

“I believe I said I was talking now,” Mary says. Her voice is even again. She thought she’d yell, but really, that will do no good and she knows it. 

John shuts up and leans against the far wall, closing his eyes. 

“Keeping them alive is one thing,” Mary says. “But the way you treated them…” she shakes her head. “They’re our boys, John. And Sam ran away from you how many times? To get away from that life?” 

John still stays quiet,but meets her eyes. 

“And Dean,” Mary croaks out. 

That makes John go shame-faced. “He uh...he told you.” 

“Sam did,” Mary says. “And Dean owned up to it when I saw the scars.” She shakes her head. “Whatever you turned into when I died...a man who would do things to make his sons that desperate for a way out? That’s not the man I married.” 

“Okay, you know what?” John snaps stalking over to her. “That’s not fair. You can’t blame me for everything, your death affected all of us. I did the best that I damn well could, considering I was knee-deep in demons and monsters. And if I remember what the boys said correctly, that’s on you, and your damned deal.” 

“No,” Mary snaps back, giving him a shove. “You don’t get to make this all my fault. You had choices! You should hear the way they talk about you! That you were a checked out empty shell. That you left them in cheap, run-down motels with nobody to take care of them and not enough food! How could you do that to them?! They needed you to be their father, not their drill sergeant! Our boys needed you!” 

He grabs her wrists and pulls her against him. “I screwed up!” he cries. “I was screwed up, and I took it out on them and I know that!” 

The tears hit her suddenly. A culmination of John’s surprise appearance in her life and the past few weeks of getting the details about her sons’ boyhoods. She sags against him. “Why did...why did it have to be this way?” 

“I’m sorry, Mary,” John says tearfully. “I am. When they were younger I thought- I thought I was doing the right thing. Protecting them from what got you. I just wanted to keep them safe, and I...I fucked it all up. You were gone, and I drowned.” 

She wraps her arms around his neck tightly, and they hold each other.

By the time the boys get back with the groceries, and the news that if John doesn’t go back to 2003 before the night is over, their timeline will erase itself, Mary and John have cried their way through another fight, and a quickie in the laundry room down the hall. 

To John, this whole encounter will be a dream. He won’t remember it as an actual event that happened to him, but Mary hopes to god that he’ll remember some of this subconsciously in a way that will make him treat their sons differently; more carefully. 

At the end of the night, after the boys have gone to bed, and Cass has settled in as well, she makes herself some tea, pouring a little of the whiskey into it. 

She wanders around the bunker quietly, straightening up. She puts books away, and does the last of the dishes. She wanders into Sam’s room and throws a blanket over his tall form as he sleeps, and does the same for Dean in his own room. 

On his nightstand is a pile of photos, and the top one catches her eye. 

Mary herself, and John and Dean and Sammy. Before. 

She taps the photo and wanders out.


	8. Chili

“Well, I’ll be damned.” 

It’s Bobby, but it’s not her Bobby. Not the one she’s been…

It’s not her Bobby. 

He looks the same; a little younger, even. 

Mary turns to Castiel and frowns deeply. “Where are we?” 

Castiel clears his throat. “We are in Sioux Falls. At the home of Bobby Singer. Our universe’s Bobby Singer. Seven years ago.” 

Bobby blinks. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s a very long story,” Castiel says uncomfortably, without meeting Bobby’s eyes. 

Bobby watches him carefully. “That I won’t live to see.” He blows out a breath. “Always knew my number’d be up someday. You doin okay, Cas?” 

“Oh, I’m alright,” Castiel nods. He stands in the doorway of the old, poorly lit kitchen for a long moment before he lunges forward and hugs Bobby awkwardly. 

Bobby chuckles and pats his back. “You can’t miss me that much.” 

Castiel clears his throat and pulls back, changing the subject quickly. “Bobby Singer, Mary Winchester.” 

Bobby sighs heavily and holds a hand out to her. “I gotta say. It’s real nice to finally meet you.” 

Mary shakes his hand and smiles. “You know...you too. The boys adore you.” 

“They’re idjits,” Bobby grins wryly. “But they’re my idjits.” 

She can’t help smiling.

“They’re also on their way here,” he says as he moves about the kitchen. “I was gonna make some chili. You’re welcome to hang around. I doubt you wanna be here when they arrive, but-” 

“I’d love to,” Mary grins. 

“You have an hour,” Castiel says, but hesitates. “Bobby, I...I suppose I will...the current me will see you soon.” 

“I expect so,” Bobby says, grinning at him fondly. “You take care of yourself, you hear me?” 

Castiel nods, and with a flap of wings, he’s gone. 

“He seems different,” Bobby comments. “But I doubt you’re here to talk about him.” 

Mary grins sheepishly. “I came back a couple of years ago in my time,” she explains. “And I’m slowly but surely getting to know my boys. It’s taken a while. Circumstances and trust issues and the trauma of having to explain to me all the bad things that’ve happened being what they are.” 

Bobby nods, looking thoughtful. “I guess they would be. And I’m guessin’ you know the big stuff. God and Lucifer and the apocalypse...Yellow Eyes and Hell…” 

She nods slowly, taking a seat as she watches him brown meat in an old pan. “I guess I’m looking for the in-between stuff.” 

“The harder stuff to explain,” Bobby surmises. 

“I have some of it,” Mary says. “I just found out about Dean’s suicide attempt.” 

Bobby blows out a slow breath and shakes his head. “Mess don’t even come close to describin’ those five months.” 

“I’ve got the basics,” Mary tells him. “ He was seventeen, he couldn’t take it anymore...John found him. He spent 72 hours in the hospital, and then John brought him here.” 

“He did,” Bobby nods grimly. “I wish I could say I knew exactly what to do with him when he got here. I wish I could say we...sat around and talked about our feelings and that I got him some real help. I was just as useless as John was. Let him wander around here like a ghost for a little while. Put himself back together a little.” 

“You didn’t talk about it at all?” Mary asks. 

“A little. But I didn’t know what to say,” Bobby says sadly. “John and Sam didn’t notice any signs. It ain’t like he made empty threats, or it was some cry for help. He looked in the mirror one day, made a decision and acted on it.” 

“What did John say?” Mary asks. “When he dropped Dean off?” 

“Cried like a damn baby,” Bobby tells her. “I took him out back while Dean got settled in, and John nearly had a nervous breakdown. He said ‘Jesus Bobby, Dean’s supposed to be the strong one.’” 

Mary closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I shoulda punched him last week.” 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing,” Mary says quickly.

“Well...in any case,” Bobby goes on. “I just let him be. Kept an eye on him. We worked on cars, and he did some odd jobs around town. Slowly but surely he started to come back to himself. Especially when the bandages came off.” 

They go quiet for a long moment after that. 

“You know it’s funny,” Mary says finally. “Sammy is so...open. About everything. I ask, and he just blurts it all out. But Dean...it’s like pulling teeth.” 

“Sounds right,” Bobby nods. “But you gotta remember. John made it Dean’s job to look after Sam. That came with a lot of swallowing his own crap and caretaking for somebody else’s from real early on.” 

“He said that to me once,” Mary says. “He said he had to be both a mother and a father to Sam, and he said he couldn’t do it. And at the time I had no idea that this was what ‘I couldn’t do it’ looked like.” 

She watches Bobby as he dumps the meat into a large, simmering pot, and then wanders to the fridge, pulling out a couple of beers and sitting down with her.

She takes one and opens it easily, taking a sip. 

“It was early June when John showed back up to get Dean,” Bobby tells her, opening his own up and dumping half of it into the pot. “And there was this...great night before that, in May. Warm, cloudless, a little breezy. I got a bonfire set up out back, and he and I sat around and talked. I pulled out a big bottle of whiskey, which was a terrible idea, but I guess I was at the end of my rope. Didn’t know how else to make him talk.” 

Mary nods, listening. 

“And he got drunk fast, cuz he was a little kid,” Bobby chuckles, and then gazes at Mary. “And he talked about you.” 

Mary freezes, staring back at him, speechless. 

“He talked about a lot of things that night, but he talked more about you than I’ve heard any of the three of ‘em talk about you...ever,” Bobby says. “Talked about the way you used to cut his sandwiches when he was a kid. Talked about the songs you used to sing. Talked about forgetting what your voice sounded like. He talked about John, too. Asked me what made John think of him as so disposable.” 

“John didn’t think that,” Mary says automatically. 

“Yeah, but he acted like it,” Bobby replies grimly. “Dean did everything at an earlier age than Sam. Dean was expected to give up everything short of his life for his little brother. To the point where he believed that he had to give up his life for him. And he did.” 

They both go quiet for a long moment. 

“Felt so bad for both of ‘em,” Bobby says finally. “Under all of Dean’s bluster and cheap talk, and all’a Sam’s cold studiousness, They were...they are, just a couple of sweet kids who can’t catch a break.”

Mary gets to her feet and paces slowly around the kitchen, looking around. “If I could change any of it...if I could go back and do it all again, make it all go away? Spare them all the bullshit? I would in a heartbeat.” 

“Well, yeah,” Bobby says slowly “So would I. But we can’t do that. All we got is the here and now. Well...our own respective heres and nows. It’s gonna have to be enough.” 

“What if it’s not?” Mary asks quickly, turning to him. “What if it’s never enough? What if-” 

“What if Dean tries again?” Bobby asks. “What if Sam follows his lead?” 

Mary swallows and looks away.

Bobby nods, looking thoughtfully at his beer. “You know that night in May, I was talkin’ about? With the bonfire and the booze?” 

Mary nods.

“I asked him,” Bobby says. “Point blank, I asked him if he’d try again. And he promised me that he wouldn’t. He’s held to that promise for fifteen years. I don’t think he’s about to break it now.” 

Mary nods, looking down at her shoes. 

“And Sam is too much of a stubborn bastard to give up that completely,” Bobby chuckles. “Just like John. He don't know when to quit.”

She snorts, and nods. “You’re not wrong. Sam is definitely John Winchester all over. At least the John I remember. Not so much the one they do...but god help him, Dean is all me. From the bacon right on down to the ‘don’t make me break your whole face’ attitude.” 

Bobby chuckles and stands up for another beer. “Cas - your Cas - is gonna snap you back soon. You get what you came here for?” 

Mary nods slowly, thoughtfully, as she sits back. “You know? I think I did.” 

Bobby grins. “Good. You tell those idjits of yours…” He sighs softly. “Hell, I don’t know. Tell ‘em I’m proud.” 

As she gets to her feet, Mary smiles. “That I can do.” 

As Bobby lifts his beer in salut, Mary blinks out of existence. 

It’s not a half hour later that the boys coming barging in through the front door. He grabs beers for them both. 

“Hey, boys,” he says, handing one to each. “Hope you’re hungry.” 

“Starving,” Dean tells him. “Thanks, Bobby.” 

Sam grins at him, and sips his beer as he follows them into the kitchen. “Everything been okay here?” 

“All quiet,” Bobby lies with a grin. “Have a seat. Let’s hear about this latest job.” 

***** 

It takes Mary a couple of hours to process and center herself before facing her family again. She slowly leaves her room, wandering into the kitchen to find all four boys. Dean is slicing raw meat and Jack has been put to work, chopping them up as best he can. 

Sam and Cas are sitting at the table, Sam with a bottle of beer, and Cas with a water, looking at her worriedly. 

“Makin’ chili,” Dean beams at Mary. “Got in the mood. You wanna learn?” 

Mary smiles and nods, stepping over to listen to her oldest as he expounds on what makes chili good, and what makes it really good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, we don't have a recipe for Bobby's chili, but below is a chili recipe that uses 1 1/2 cups of whiskey and two bottles of dark beer. So I'm guessing that Dean and/or Bobby would be in favor:   
> http://www.midwestliving.com/recipe/red-hot-whiskey-chili


	9. Hot  Tea

She hasn’t slept this poorly since she first came back from the dead. Mary wanders the halls of the bunker like a ghost late at night, picking at books and poking around on Sam’s (not Dean’s. She’s been warned.) laptop. She finally settles in the kitchen, placing the big steal kettle on the stove to make some tea. 

“It’s very late.” 

Mary looks up and smiles a little. “Hi, Castiel.” 

The angel nods and steps the rest of the way into the kitchen, sitting across from her at the table. “It’s been a while since you were up so late.” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “But...ever since I talked to Bobby...the other Bobby...I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot, again. About how much I’ve missed.” 

Castiel stays quiet, letting her talk as she gets up to put a stop to the kettle’s whistle as it starts to make a high, airy whine. 

Mary sighs heavily, and brings over the kettle and two mugs, pouring the steaming water into each, and dropping tea bags into both. “When Dean was four, he was so-” she smiles, mostly to herself. “He was excited about everything. Diagonally cut sandwiches. Pie. His dad coming home after a long day at work. And we were so close. He was my little partner in crime.” 

“How so?” Castiel asks as he wraps his hands around the mug, watching her. 

She sits down slowly, looking off thoughtfully. “We had these neighbors in Lawrence. A married couple who didn’t really like kids. They prided themselves on being childless, which was fine. Good for them. But they really didn’t like Dean very much because he was little and he didn’t understand the things that adults do.” 

“Is it not...normal? For a four-year-old to not understand those things?” Castiel asks, confused. 

“Yep,” Mary nods. “Completely normal. But they weren’t fans. So Dean and I would do dumb stuff. Track mud on their front porch. Once we caught a mouse in our house and left it in their mailbox for them to find…” 

Castiel chuckles softly. “Dean is very much your son.” 

“Yes, he is,” Mary says proudly. “You know Winchester Surprise?” 

Castiel’s face goes green at the mention of the meaty dish. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Yes I do.” 

Mary smiles at him. “It was an April Fool’s joke I played on John one time before we were married. I told him I’d taken a cooking class, and I made a big, huge deal out of it, told him I was makin’ him a special dinner. I lit candles, I even got little covers for the plates. And when I lifted the lid, the look on his face…” 

Castiel grins, as he keeps listening, sipping his tea. 

“When he realized what was goin’ on, he laughed for an hour,” Mary finishes. “And after that, I made it about once a year, and we ate it, but mostly because it was funny.” 

“Dean remembers it fondly,” Castiel says.

Mary nods. “He does. I should never have made that for him. John was terrified. He thought all that fat and grease was gonna kill our baby.” 

“As we’ve seen countless times, it takes much more than terrible food to kill Dean Winchester.” 

She stops, staring down at her own cup of tea. “I uh...it was good to talk to Bobby. Their Bobby. It was good to get that perspective. I didn’t have enough time with John when he was here to really...We fought about it. We did. I put him on the defensive.” 

They sit in silence for a long moment, and Mary suddenly wishes that there were windows that she could open; to let in the night air, and hear an owl or some crickets; anything. 

“It still very much bothers you,” Castiel surmises, his voice quiet. “That story of what happened when Dean was a teenager.” 

She lets that hang in the air for a few moments, taking a sip of tea before responding. “Even though it’s been a few years since I came back, it hits me sometimes. He’ll say my name, and I’ll look up, and instead of a grown man, I see…I see that little boy who used to follow me around and play with his cars and reach his little hands into the crib to help adjust his baby brother’s blankets. And that’s not fair to him. He hasn’t been that person in so long. But I can’t help it.” 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about that,” Castiel tells her. “Dean certainly wouldn’t want you to.” 

“Well, no, but...then I think about that teenager in some of the photos I’ve seen,” Mary goes on. “Skinny and scared but trying to hide it, trying to juggle taking care of Sam with making sure John didn’t lose his mind with school and growing up. Doing all of these things that were supposed to be my job. And I think about what he said to me. That he tried to be a parent, and that he couldn’t do it.” 

Castiel reaches out, placing a hand on Mary’s gently. “Dean may have felt that way; that he couldn’t do it, that he couldn’t succeed. But he’s wrong. Because he did do all of those things. And he may have been scared, and young, but he did them as well as he could. Sam and Dean have been through too many terrible things to really count. But they are still here, despite all of it.” 

Mary stares at him. 

“You Winchesters,” Castiel muses with a grin. “All of you Winchesters have the tendency of living in the past; of rehashing the things that you cannot possibly affect change on. The decisions of a terrified seventeen year old boy were indicative of just how desperate he had become, and how afraid he was to tell anyone. But he lived through that, and he’s still here.” 

Despite herself, Mary feels her lip start to tremble as tear prick her eyes. “I should have been there for him.” 

“It was completely understandable to feel that way,” Castiel tells her, holding her hand still. “And I’m sorry that it wasn’t possible.” 

Mary tugs her hand away carefully and wipes her eyes. 

“Dean is very strong,” Castiel says firmly. “He has moments of weakness, but he is the strongest person I have ever met. I think he gets that from you... as well as his rather unorthodoxically playfully spirit..” 

She lets out a watery laugh. “He get yout good sometimes, huh?” 

“He reserves most of that for Sam, thankfully, but there have been a few occasions,” Castiel tells her grumpily. He sighs. “But I am told that this is part of being best friends. ‘Razzing’ each other.”

“It is in this family,” Mary tells him as her tears die down. “You want more tea?” 

“Yes. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make my hot tea in a rainbow kettle with a built in tea strainer. It is delightful. For really love and fairly priced loose leaf tea, I recommend Adagio. Consistently great, AND they have fandom packs, including some great Supernatural options. ;)


End file.
